Six Years
by Dryd Aykma
Summary: Harry's been going through some rough times. Work at the Auror Office has started to bog him down; his personal life is taking a few turns for the worse; and a fair chunk of the public still sees him as something he'd really rather not be. So he's taking a vacation in an attempt to sort his life out. An AU fic that follows post-DH Harry. Very much non-canon. Expect changes.
1. Chapter 0

**DISCLAIMER: Anyone who thinks I own Harry Potter should be shot. If I'm shot one day, you'll know why.**

**Six Years**

**Chapter 0**

* * *

Gawain Robards - the head of the Ministry of Magic's Auror Office, and one of the bigger names in wizarding politics - was a man who stuck quite firmly to his own code of ethics. He would never turn his back on someone who truly needed help, and he would never dare to allow a criminal any modicum of leniency. To the dark wizards and witches across Britain, he was a force to be reckoned with. To the Aurors in his own department, he was a father figure that could be relied on to provide vacation time to near enough anyone who requested; and this was the reason as to why there were two people seated within the Head Auror's office.

Gawain was slowly swirling a tumbler that had the remnants of a measure of firewhiskey when the other man sat down opposite him. He gently placed it on the table and gave a good look at his guest. A fairly tall man - though not enough to be intimidating through height alone - of average build; a mess of black hair that had likely never had a moment of order to it; green eyes that had dulled slightly after a nasty Cataracts Curse; and a barely noticeable lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, ever so slightly to the right side of his head. He wasn't the ideal appearance of an Auror - at least, not on paper - but it was the appearance of an icon that many dark wizards rightly knew and feared. Harry Potter, a man with a million titles upon him, was seated across from the Head Auror.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Harry?" Gawain said with a smile. He and Harry had been on first name terms for a few years now - ever since Harry had single-handedly taken on a few anti-Ministry werewolves that had taken it upon themselves to ruin an otherwise happy Christmas dinner; which Harry had been invited to as a favour - and they maintained the air of friendliness at the Ministry. Unfortunately, the two of them hadn't spoken much over the past month as Gawain had had a rather unexpected amount of interdepartmental meetings; an amount that - if Gawain's research was correct - hadn't occurred since Grindelwald's time of power.

"I'd like to request some vacation time, Gawain." Harry spoke in a monotonous drone. Gawain's face fell a little after Harry spoke. He'd heard word that Harry had fallen into a slight depression again and hearing Harry's voice simply confirmed it for him. Sighing overtly, Gawain poured himself another glass of firewhiskey.

"Care to join me, Harry?" Gawain offered, giving the bottle a little shake. Harry nodded his acceptance and, after taking another tumbler from his desk drawer and pouring firewhiskey into it, took a glass from Gawain and took a slight sip. Gawain smiled in spite of himself; Harry had never taken to firewhiskey and had always had a slight twitch after drinking some, regardless of how little it was. After downing his own glass as he always did, Gawain spoke again, his tone more formal now, "So, where can I expect to be able to contact you if I give you this vacation if?"

"Is this really necessary, Gawain?"

"You know as well as I do that it is. We've had this conversation twice over the past couple of years. The third time, contrary to popular belief, is not always the charm. So, where're you heading off to?" Gawain poured himself a taller glass of firewhiskey while he waited for an answer. His previous experience with Harry's vacation requests tended to leave him with a headache; and he'd much rather hold it off until the morning.

"I hear France is nice this time of year."

"You know I'm going to need an address, Harry."

"A friend's invited me over to their place. A little house in a small town by the name of Maladroit."

"Maladroit? Isn't that French for-"

"Yeah. Apparently it's the smallest all-wizarding village in France. The name's probably just a jab at that."

"Ah, well that makes sense; in a rude kind of way. Another glass?" Harry had finished his measure of firewhiskey by now and politely declined the offer, placing his now empty glass onto the desk. "Well, more power to you, then. Anyway, how long do you reckon you'll be out there?"

"Two weeks."

"Oh? Miranda'll be hurt when I tell her later. We were thinking you'd want to spend your birthday with us."

"Not this year, Gawain. I wouldn't want to impose upon the two of you again."

"Don't ever worry yourself about that. We're glad to have you over whenever. It's why we've got a guest room, Harry."

Gawain filled his own glass up again, downing the measure soon after. "Oh, I forgot. This place you're going to got a name? Regardless of how small this village is, I don't want to try my luck and floo all of the buildings there if I need you in an emergency."

"Of course. It's Nemo Place, if I'm remembering it right."

"I expect you are." Gawain finally put the glasses away. He'd recognised the name of the place; and if his next question was going to send him where he expected it, he didn't want to ave drank enough to send it anywhere without a paddle. "Weasley went up there a year ago, didn't he?"

"I expect he did." Harry said stiffly. It was the first hint of any emotion he'd shown tonight; Gawain knew he'd struck gold.

"Harry, does this vacation have something to do with what I've heard about Gin-"

"Whatever she does is none of my concern." Harry's tone became icy now but Gawain pushed on regardless.

"It's been more than two years, Harry. You can't get into a slump whenever something like this happens." Gawain immediately regretted delving into this; Harry immediately stood up, his face stony.

"With all due respect, sir. Stay out of it." Harry made to leave, but stopped once Gawain spoke.

"Harry, please sit down. I'm sorry, it's not my place. Do an old man a favour and talk to him. He's going to be deprived of that small luxury for the next fortnight." After a few tense seconds, Gawain smiled slightly as Harry sat back down.

"You're not that old, Gawain." And Gawain was pleased to see a hint of a smile find it's way to Harry's face.

"Oh, I think my hair would disagree. I'm starting to think that an interest in your life comes with the colour."

"I'm sure Dumbledore would have had to agree with you there." Harry chuckled slightly. Gawain offered him a bottle of butterbeer that he'd pulled out from his desk. Harry took it and gave Gawain an amused look. "Hiding these were you?"

"Harry, anyone who has seen you drink firewhiskey would have done the same." Gawain pulled out the glass and bottle he'd only recently put away; deciding to enjoy the moment rather than dig into Harry's mind. "The Minister's been asking about you."

"Oh, really? What's Kingsley been after then?" Harry asked, badly faking disinterest.

"He's been asking how highly you come recommended; as if he doesn't know that he's the one who got you in these offices so quickly." Harry smiled at the disgust in Gawain's voice. It was a private in-joke between he and Harry; the two of them knew that Harry was probably the best Auror the Ministry had at the moment. "Between you and me, I reckon he wants you in my seat soon. Don't look surprised; we both know you'll end up here by the end of the decade. I just reckon he wants out of the Minister seat. I can't blame him either. We're still finding Death Eaters under the floorboards - we're still looking for the Malfoys - and ever since those incidents in Muggle London a couple weeks ago we've been getting pressured by their government to help stop something like it happening again. I just wish the Minister wasn't so blatantly trying to get me to take his place. It's been murder having so many meetings. I expect I'll be called in for another with the Minister before the night's out."

"You know I've got your back." Harry said, raising his bottle.

"Indeed I do, Harry. I'm well aware of that." Gawain fell into silence, staring at the empty tumbler on his desk.

"Have I told you about the time Teddy managed to nick my Firebolt?" Gawain was more than happy with Harry's co-operation and jumped into the conversation.

Hours were whiled away talking about shapeshifting-based shenanigans, reminiscing old school days, and wondering if Harry could drink anything that had over five percent alcohol content without shuddering. Eventually it reached eleven o'clock and, as Gawain had predicted, a small sheet of paper flew into his office and placed itself upon his desk. Gawain sighed deeply after reading it.

"Well, Harry, I'm afraid I'll need to head off now. Will you be leaving now?"

"Not at the moment. There are a few things I need to get out of my desk before I go anywhere. I expect Ronald will be wanting to say something to me as well." The two of them stood up, Gawain extending a hand which was shaken immediately.

"Well don't let him get you down, Harry. You're on vacation time now, if you don't enjoy it; I will not provide you with any more." Gawain gave Harry a stern look which managed to draw a small smile out. "Have a good time, Harry."

"I will, Gawain. France has never been unkind to me so far, hopefully my birthday won't change that." And with those final words, the two of them left the office and headed their separate ways. Harry had stopped by his desk and removed a couple of sacks of jangling metals, and Gawain made his way towards the stairs and headed for the Minister's office.

* * *

**[A/N: So there we have the prologue to my first fanfic. I like this as an opening. I don't think I went too OTT with the exposition; and by that, I mean I don't think I made it sound unnatural. I wanted to lay down some foundations of the Wizarding World in it's current state without anything sounding like it was pure exposition. Which is my reason for things like not mentioning an exact date. Just in case anyone didn't get the hint, here's another: The title is not indicative of the length of time since the end of the war. Just as a note, I like writing Robards as a friend to Harry. I don't think I've seen many fics with a friendly Robards. Erm... I'm rambling. Oh well. If anyone's got a question, then leave it in a review. I'll get back to you with a PM; as long as you're accepting them, of course.**

**Oh, and anyone worried about length of chapters, know this: This is essentially the prologue. Expect future chapters to have at least 4,000.**

**PS: You can't search for Gawain Robards in the character bit when looking for stories. What's up with that?**

**EDIT: I've edited this chapter about five times. In an hour. I forgot to add a title, disclaimer, author note, and the freaking closing bracket for my note. Damn, I feel like a pleb.]**


	2. Chapter 1: Arrival

**Disclaimer: You want to know who owns the Harry Potter series? Why are you reading fanfiction? Read the books first, maybe then you'll understand why we need(?) disclaimers.**

* * *

**Six Years**

**Chapter 1: Arrival**

Harry left Gawain's office feeling a fair deal better than he had when he'd entered – and he was sure that only a tiny part of that had something to do with alcohol. Before he left for his vacation, he had to get some things from his desk. After pulling open the sole drawer he had, he extracted a couple of small sacks; one containing a surplus of vacation money, and the other full of clothes, both sacks had been magically enlarged on the inside thanks to some handy charms. After quickly rooting through them to make sure everything was inside, Harry made to leave but was blocked by a familiar red head.

"What is it, Weasley?" Harry very nearly sighed. He had been in no mood to deal with Ronald over the past week. He'd been in a foul mood ever since one of the trainees claimed that – after everyone had found out that he was leaving the Auror Office to go and work for George – he was leaving because he couldn't grow up. Harry was in the awkward position of agreeing with that; Ronald was still prone to getting into petty squabbles, and he hadn't been able to abandon his anti–Slytherin prejudice that Harry had thrown off a few months after becoming an Auror.

"Been told to give you this." Ronald waved a thin blue envelope he had in his hand. "You know, I'm not an owl, Potter. Do everyone a favour and just tell 'em where you live." He handed the envelope to Harry and made his way into the one elevator that was available and sent himself down before Harry could follow – leaving Harry with the few Aurors that were around during the late night transition of shifts.

While he waited for another elevator to arrive, Harry fiddled with the envelope. Blue was one of the few colours that the Ministry didn't use to hand out private memos – at least as far as Harry knew. The envelope was also completely void of any writing. Regardless, Harry knew who the letter was from and smiled to himself. Deciding he'd open it later, he pocketed it and waited for the elevator.

By the time an elevator arrived, Harry heard footsteps approaching. He held the grilles open and kept his head down; hoping that they weren't in the mood to talk to him. The hope vanished once he'd heard the voice of person who'd joined him.

"Harry? How are you?" It was a woman's voice, and Harry didn't need to look to know there'd be a head full of bushy hair to go with it.

"I'm fine, Hermione. How's work been?" Harry jabbed at the elevator console and watched as the doors slid shut.

"It's been a mess for the past couple of weeks. Ever since Yaxley was brought in, things have gone pear–shaped." Hermione began feverishly rooting through her bag. Harry heard the familiar sound of folders brushing against each other and then felt one being forced into his hands. "Have a look through that. Tell me what you think."

"Hermione, I can't." Harry said, looking at her. He looked at the mess of a blur that was her face and heard her gasp.

"Oh, Harry, what happened?" She was clearly worried, and Harry smiled in spite of himself, being reminded of their days at Hogwarts.

"Yaxley got me," he explained, "the evil git was using a kitten as a shield – I'm fairly decent with a wand, but I don't want to Stun a kitten – and he got me while I was too busy trying to aim to remember how to throw up a Shield Charm. My finest moment, it was not."

"You say you wouldn't Stun a kitten-"

"There was about two litres of rum and a bookcase's worth of difference from that time." Harry defended. "Plus, I didn't even hit it." He had spent last Halloween at one of Hermione's parties and had gotten quite drunk and panicked when Crackerjack – Hermione's latest kitten – had knocked a book over. The Stunning Spell he'd fired at the cat was a few metres off target and only succeeded in shattering a window.

"You know I'm only teasing. Anyway, if you can't read that..." Hermione took the folder out of Harry's hands and slid it back into her bag. "It was basically a list of evidence that has gone missing since Yaxley was brought in. It's not even all to do with his case. Someone's been trying to sabotage quite a few cases."

"Any connection between cases?"

"They're all Death Eater cases, accuses and proven."

"Any idea who's been stealing evidence?"

"Everyone in our office has been checked. Even Malfoy was cleared of involvement. We're going to try and see if Robards will give us permission to question Aurors tomorrow morning."

"You really think one of us is stealing evidence?"

"I don't know, Harry. Nobody else has access to evidence without getting probed, so I guess we're just hoping we haven't overlooked something." There was a moment of silence in the elevator. Before Harry could open his mouth to break the silence, the grilles of the elevator creaked open and they both stepped out into the Atrium.

"I'll see you later, Harry." Hermione said. She gave him a quick hug and whispered, "And get your eyes fixed."

"I've an appointment tomorrow." He whispered back and, despite his bad eyesight, he could tell Hermione was smiling. They broke apart and Hermione left, Harry waving goodbye as she did.

Looking around the Atrium provided Harry with a rather interesting sight – though his diminished eyesight marred the spectacle slightly. While never usually packed at this time, the Atrium had never been as empty as had been now. From what he could tell, he could have counted the amount of people there on his fingers – and he was sure he could've named all but one of them. That sole figure was also the only one not sitting at a desk, standing at a post, or talking loudly enough for Harry to recognise their voice.

They were standing in the area that once held the horrid statue of muggles 'in their rightful place.' Now there was a grand statue carved from marble that depicted a cowering Voldemort beneath the (quite literally) stony gazes of a group of wizards, most of them being members of the Order of the Phoenix, with Harry himself at the front. Harry had been against the statue when it was to be built – he had no desire to be immortalised in such a way – but he had eventually backed down after it had been put to him that it would be a good morale boost and would reinforce the fact that Voldemort would never be able to rise to power again.

Harry moved to leave the Ministry when the person over by the statue began to move towards him. As they called his name, his spirits dropped. He put a bit more speed into his walk in an effort to avoid them but social etiquette caught up with him as the person came within arm's reach.

"Auror Potter, a word, please?" They stood in front of him and, despite being more of a blur than a person, he knew they were pulling out a notepad and quill from their handbag.

"Miss Carter, for the last time, I don't want to talk to the Prophet." Ophelia Carter was one of the Daily Prophets more enthusiastic journalists. Harry was sure he'd never read any of her writings though one of his workmates had told him that she had pretty much taken the place of Rita Skeeter, though perhaps with less of a habit of getting on everyone's bad side – the fact that she handwrote her work rather than using one of those annoying Quick-Quotes Quills probably did a lot to help that. As far as what she looked like, however, Harry couldn't really tell. She'd only started trying to talk to Harry over the past week so he'd never gotten a good look at her, and he couldn't even place her voice to a face he might've caught in passing at one point. The only thing he knew for sure about her appearance was that her hair was mint green in colour; that being the only consistent thing about the blur that was her.

"Are you su-"

"Yes. I was sure on Monday, and I'm still sure today. If you really want an interview, send an owl to Head Auror Robards and request one, though don't expect anything for a couple of weeks or so. Badgering me won't get you anywhere." Harry was felt kind of bad for being so curt with her, but he really was in no mood to deal with her. Thankfully, she seemed to give up with trying to talk to him and walked away. He watched her head back over and sit by the statue before leaving, making sure she wasn't going to try again.

Harry quickly made to leave – this time uninterrupted save for a brief conversation with the wizard who sat at the entrance desk – and soon found himself experiencing the dizzying mode of transportation that was the Floo network.

* * *

After he stopped spinning, Harry stepped out of his fireplace and tossed his cloak to one side, landing in an unceremonious heap. After sending his boots to join the cloak, Harry collapsed into an overlarge and comfortable armchair. He was uncharacteristically tired tonight and so he shifted his weight about until he was in a comfortable enough position to simply lounge in his chair, and he succumbed to sleep minutes after.

His house was a simple one; a small bungalow with just enough rooms to suit him well. A front room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom; all he needed to make sure he could live comfortably. The front room was sparse and had nary a thing occupying it beside the armchair Harry himself was occupying, and a small table beside the armchair. The table itself had its own occupant; a small, wooden box. It was this box that – after being kicked off of the table during a mid-sleep roll – had woken Harry soon after he had drifted to sleep.

Pulling himself out of the chair slowly, Harry looked at the box and groaned sleepily. Bending over and picking up the box, Harry groaned again as the latch came loose and the contents fell to the floor in a small heap. Harry sat and stared at the pile. It was a mass of photographs and letters, none of them any younger than a year.

Instead of just putting it all back in the box, Harry sifted through them. It was a series of windows into times gone by.

One picture showed Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all standing outside of The Burrow. It was taken seven years ago. Harry and Ronald were both wearing their Auror's robes. Hermione was holding Ronald's hand, smiling brightly. The three of them were probably the happiest. It was probably the first photograph taken that had all of them together since the end of the war. George's grin looked very forced, perhaps painfully so. Harry put the photo away, along with a few others.

He looked at a photo that had been taking about four years ago. This was also a shot of Harry and the Weasleys outside of The Burrow. Hermione's absence was due to a particularly nasty argument she and Ronald had had a week prior. The two of them never reconciled, and Harry hadn't ever bothered to find out Harry took a look at the faces – most of them happier than the previous photo – and continued with placing the photos back in the box.

The last photo he'd returned to the box was the most recent, having been taken only two years prior. He and Hermione were both seated on a rather large couch that had once taken up space in the same room that Harry currently sat in. They both had an arm slung over the other's shoulder, and neither of their smiles extended to their eyes. That was the night that Harry had been made single. That was also the last time he'd had someone else in his house. Harry sighed and moved the box back onto the table. Getting up, Harry walked over to the window and stared outside at the wooded area that surrounded his house.

His house was far enough away from most towns that people rarely wandered by, and was covered with enough wards and charms to make sure nobody would find him even if he could stare into their eyes from his front room. Harry valued his privacy much more than he'd have liked to; being the wizard who rid the world of Voldemort brought a kind of attention that was not enviable. Harry understood why Dumbledore was content to while away his days at Hogwarts after he had managed to defeat Grindelwald all those years ago.

Deciding that he should probably get to bed, Harry stepped away from the window. Before leaving the room, he picked up the cloak he'd left on the floor. As he straightened it out, he felt the faint outline of an envelope in one of the pockets. Remembering that Ronald had given him one before he'd left the Ministry, he pulled it out and took it into his bedroom before opening it.

While his eyes hadn't been kind to him within the realm of reading, due to recent events, the few people who had been in regular contact with him – all five of them – were well aware of this, and he'd given them a handy charm he'd picked up from one of the guys who worked in administration. Pulling out his wand, he tapped the letter. When the wood of the wand left the paper, the words lit up and a familiar voice emanated throughout Harry's bedroom.

_**Harry,**_

_**We're so happy you decided to spend some time over here in France. It's been far too long since you spent time with us that Bill suggested (jokingly, I think) that you were only sending us letters to stop us from pulling you out of work. I told him he was being silly. **_

_**I think I need to apologise in advance. We would have had your room ready for when you arrived, but we have another guest at the moment. We were hoping they'd have left before you arrived, but they've decided to stay for another couple of days and we can't really say no. I think they found one of your letters and wanted to meet you before they left. Anyway, the guest room will be taken, but Bill and I will hopefully be cleaning up our basement by the time you get this letter, something I've been trying to get Bill to do for a while. I hope you don't mind staying in the basement for a while, but it should be comfortable enough and you should be able to move to the guest room after a few days.**_

_**I hope you're still planning on coming over at noon. Could you owl me if there's a change, please? I'd like to make sure how many I'm making lunch for.**_

_**Fleur**_

_**PS: Victoire's already excited to see you again. It was going to be a surprise, but our guest seems to have "accidentally" let it slip.**_

Harry smiled sadly when the light from the words faded away. Bill and Fleur had probably been the people who had kept in contact with him the most over the past two years – Robards excepting, of course. It was something he had not been expecting either, considering that he hadn't been particularly close to the couple. It saddened him a little to realise that the people he once considered close friends were not the ones who kept in contact with him. Then again, it was one of the many facts of life he'd learned after he'd left Hogwarts. Friends come and go – to and from places you'd never have expected.

Harry sat on his bed and placed the letter in the topmost drawer of the cabinet beside him. He undressed and climbed into bed. His last thoughts before sleep came to him were about the dinner he'd neglected to have.

* * *

Harry's eyes shot open. He hit the clock on top of his bedside cabinet and was greeted with a sing-song voice announcing that it was half past six. He didn't need to do anything for a couple of hours, but he was already awake and he doubted he be able to to find an hours nap even if he tried. He clambered out of bed and started up his morning routine.

A couple of hours later, and a cleaned and dressed Harry was walking through Diagon Alley. He was on his way to the small apothecary that now resided in the spot that Florean Forescue's ice cream parlour once stood. Harry knocked at the door and was soon greeted by a short, portly man who was sporting a rather large moustache.

"Thanks for this, Professor Slughorn." Harry walked into the apothecary. It was a dark place that was filled with all kinds of rare and potent potions ingredients, most of them giving off foul odours. Harry followed Slughorn into a room behind the counter, where a rather large cauldron was half-full of boiling water.

"This is no trouble for me, my boy. My only problem is that I've no idea why you didn't do this earlier. It can't have been very practical wearing glasses all day, especially in your profession." Slughorn wasn't looking at Harry, instead deciding to gather a multitude of ingredients and organise them on a table beside the cauldron.

"It wasn't, you're right." Harry admitted, "But I hadn't had too much trouble, and getting it done earlier doesn't mean I wouldn't have had to come here now anyway. It wasn't glasses that cursed me."

"Well, I guess you're right there. Come now, we've a potion to brew." Harry moved over to the table, standing opposite Slughorn. He placed his wand to one side, ready for use, and two of them began working. It was a laborious couple of hours that required constant movement to prevent the potion going wrong. Freshly ground Aconite had to be steadily added at certain intervals while still stirring the potion. A solution of Asphodel and powdered Flitterby wings had to be set up to flow in steadily for an hour, during which time Harry and Slughorn prepared a multitude of other ingredients. After some time, they finally added the final ingredients – a horrible gooey mixture of Fire Crab mucus, Nightshade extract, and Nundu claws – then Slughorn did some complicated wand movements, and the potion changed colour from inky black to a pleasant amethyst.

The pair stood back and admired their work for a moment before Slughorn began bottling and labelling it. "Thank you for this, Harry. Digbert, my assisstant, is off on some mad excursion hunting a Nundu. Horrible beasts, but you can see why it's done; the demand for its claws has gone up tenfold since I figured out how to put this together." He gave one of the tiny bottles a little shake. "Oh, and you might as well take one of them now. Er, leave the money on table, would you?"

"Thanks for this, Professor." Harry gave his thanks when he took a bottle, placing money on the table after he pocketed the potion.

"It was my pleasure, Harry. Just remember not to drink it; you must rub it directly onto your eyes. This stuff will do nasty things to your insides if you drink it."

"I'll remember that." Harry waved goodbye – which Slughorn returned – and left the apothecary, Apparating away once he'd left the door.

* * *

With an almost inaudible pop, Harry found himself in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He strode to the opposite end and through a set of sleek mahogany doors. He was in the newly built Department Of International Travel, which was itself a new addition to the Ministry's structure. Since the end of the last war, Kingsley Shacklebolt, under pressure from the general public, passed a series of laws that made international travel much more restricted. What was once a matter of simply checking identity and sending people on their way with one-off portkeys was now a mass of queuing, extensive background checks, luggage searches, and waiting for time-specific portkeys. It mostly relaxed the public, but a fair amount of people took these changes as a harbinger of harsher changes to come and promptly left Britain. Bill and Fleur were the only people Harry personally knew who had gone with that small movement.

Harry eventually made his way into the way the lobby – after an hour of tedious paperwork – he found himself a seat and asked a nearby stranger for the time, who then told him it was only half past eleven. His portkey to France was due to leave at twelve o'clock, so he had a whole half an hour to waste. Harry took the small bottle of potion out of his pocket and uncapped it. He poured out the contents into his hand and proceeded to straight onto his eyes. It was an experience he couldn't think of a match to. Where he had expected the feeling of the potion against his eyes to be rather uncomfortable, the reality of the situation was that it felt quite nice. There was no stinging sensation, and his eyes actually felt like they were soaking up the potion. Soon the potion was entirely soaked up and Harry could see clearly. Harry could see clearly. He barely restrained a whoop of joy when he realised what that really meant. For once in his life, he could see every little detail of the faces of everyone around him, without him having glasses or having taken Polyjuice Potion.

The wait for the portkey was uneventful outside of Harry's now perfect sight. Eventually, he and a handful of others were called over to a slightly raised platform. The platform was the Ministry's form of international travel: A large round platform with a small pillar in the middle which had a handrail around it. Harry and his travel companions each grabbed hold of the handrail and, after the Ministry official finished his countdown, they were all pulled through the air.

Moments passed, and they were soon greeted with a heavy clunk as the platform landed in a rather large – if empty – room that had only a door with the Ministry's emblem carved into it as decoration. They all stepped down from the platform, and Harry took a look at where the platform had landed: What he assumed was a slot dug out underneath the platform. He turned away and left the room.

He found himself in a small waiting room, where a few of the people he'd just travelled with were seated as well as a few that were presumably waiting to head to England. He quickly glanced around the room, looking for a recognisable face, and his eyes eventually noticed the face of the scarred and long-haired Bill Weasley. Bills attention was also caught and he waved Harry over.

"Took your time, Harry." Bill said glibly, smiling in a way that made his scar warp into an ugly shape.

"For some reason, I doubt your judgement." Harry returned the smile and followed Bill out of the building. Once outside, they walked for a few minutes in silence until Bill stopped and offered Harry a hand. Harry recognised the gesture for what it was and took it. In an instant, Bill took Harry in Side-Along Apparition and they appeared in front of a house Harry had once seen in a photo that Fleur had sent him in a letter. If Harry was honest, it wasn't the most impressive piece of architecture he'd ever seen, though he found the style odd. It was clearly not a building in any French style, instead clearly being one of Tudor architecture.

Bill strode up to the door and opened it, allowing Harry through first. Harry stepped in and took in his surroundings. It was much more homely than Harry's house. Once again, though, the inside was more fitting of a home of a noble in Tudor England. It looked much more ornate and impressive than anything he'd expected before.

Bill walked past him and beckoned Harry to follow him, which he did. Bill opened a door that stood beside the stairs. "This is the basement. I hope Fleur told you that." Harry nodded a little, and Bill continued. "Well, you better dump your stuff down there. Fleur's out with Victoire and our guest at the moment, but they should get back soon."

Harry did as Bill suggested and headed down the stairs into the basement. He was happy with the sight that greeted them. True to Fleur's letter, they had definitely cleaned up the basement. It was also a tad more modern than the rest of the house – and perhaps a little more minimalistic with only a bed, bedside cabinet, armchair, and table, which Harry appreciated. He took the bags of his stuff from out of his cloak and placed them on the bed, then sat himself down in the chair. He was going to sit and wait for a few minutes before heading up. He shifted himself into a slightly more comfortable position and, due to him being rather tired from an unexpectedly late night, fell asleep in the unfamiliar armchair.

* * *

**[A/N: Well, this came out later than I had hoped. Just so people know, I want to try and get a weekly release thing going. I was trying for Sunday but, because I'm an idiot, I wasn't able to. You see, I write this up on my phone, weekends are the times where I get the most time to write, and I'm not home on weekends. I forgot my charger. My phone died. Won't happen again. Hopefully...**

**Anyway, this chapter... I think I deleted more paragraphs than are actually here. That probably didn't help getting it out by now, but what can I do. I'm sorry for ending it when I did, but I wanted it to be an introduction into the changes in the world and I hope I did it all right. I've got a lot of notes on the differences... Any questions? Leave a review. Want to leave a review? Leave a review. Want to find out parts of the plot you think I should've explained? Leave a review. I don't think I've left anything ambiguous but... I don't trust myself. Until next time!**

**EDIT: Well this isn't something I wanted to do again... Here's a postscript. I've been considering changing the title of the fic, but I'm not entirely sure what I'll be changing it to. Well, I do... I'm thinking something like "The French Emperor." And yes, this really was never going to be a little fic going over Harry's lovely two week vacation. I like conflict, and there really probably should have been something happen after Voldemort fell. That kind of presence just leaving leaves some kind of mad power vacuum, and the epilogue never gave any indication that the Ministry actually plugged it.]**


	3. Chapter 2: Lunch & Dinner

**Disclaimer: If ever I claim to own Harry Potter, I want to be hunted down by Libyans. If only so I can quote Back to the Future. Damn, that series is awesome.**

* * *

**Six Years**

**Chapter 2: Lunch & Dinner**

Harry was woken up by the sound of someone knicking quite loudly against a door. He rolled off of the armchair he'd falken asleep in and woke up more thoroughly when he hit the floor with a thud. He quickly collected hinself and recalled where he was. He made his way up the basment's stairs and straightened his clothes out a little before he opened the door.

"Harry!" The voice of Victoire Weasley greeted him, along with her hasty footsteps, and Harry bent down automatically to give the hug he knew she'd be expecting, which he did.

"Hello, Victoire!" Harry said with a smile after he released her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for your birthday. So tell me, how old are you now?"

"Four!" Victoire practically yelled, a huge grin on her face, and extending her hand with three fingers extended. Harry chuckled and raised her smallest finger.

"Well four is certainly a big number. I'll have to get you something big then, won't I? Tell you what; I'll get something bigger if you show me where your mummy is." Victoire squealed happily and ran off, and Harry was left to follow her silver-blonde hair as it disappeared around a corner. When he walked into what he found to be the kitchen, he saw Victoire pulling at the hem of her mother's dress.

"Mummy, mummy! Harry said he was going to get me a big present for my birthday this year!" Fleur had her back to the doorway Harry was standing in and was fussing over a smorgasbord of different food, laughing a little when she heard what Victoire said.

"Is that so?" Bill spoke up behind Harry.

"It's the curse of being a godfather, I'm afraid." Harry moved out of the way and Bill made his way across the room, giving Fleur an affection peck on the cheek when he reached her.

"She'll be down in a minute." Said Bill, sitting down at the table, Victoire quickly joining him. Then he added to Harry, "You don't need to be invited to sit down Harry."

"Who'll be down in a minute?" Harry asked as he sat opposite Bill at the table - a rather large and round one that didn't fit in with the decor of the rest of the house. His question received barely any acknowledgement besides Bill tapping his nose mysteriously.

"It is supposed to be a surprise, Harry." Fleur had turned away from the counter and was placing foodmats onto the table. "They ruined the surprise for Victoire, so we've made this a surprise for you." A ringing noise sounded from behind her and she turned to fuss over whatever it was that was being cooked in the oven.

The oven was another oddity in the kitchen. It was a brand new muggle oven - at least it looked like one, Harry was completely open to the idea that it had one or more different spells working on it. Now that Harry looked around the kitchen properly, he noticed that much of it looked as though it could have been from a fairly high-end muggle kitchen showroom. All the appliances were bright, cleaned, and looked newly bought. The walls were tiled and a brilliant white. All the cupboards and drawers fit in with the sleek design of everything. The room itself was an oddity within the otherwise entirely 16th century house.

"This room is... Different." Harry spoke slowly, slightly put off by his realisation.

"What do you mean?" Fleur said, still busying herself with food preparation.

"Well, everything looks new. And muggle." Harry added.

"Of course it is. When Bill and I arrived here the house was, how you say, old. This kitchen was not at all suited for any kind of fine cooking, so we bought new things. It is very muggle because - as I've no doubt you will find out firsthand - Maladroit have no shops that deal in appliances and furniture. Besides, muggles things are much cheaper, and my mother has a fair deal of experience with the charms that are often placed on kitchen appliances. It works out nicely, I think." Fleur turned away from the counters after finishing her explanation, and levitated a large tray onto the round table. Several covered dishes were on the tray, leaving Harry wondering over just how much food Fleur had prepared for lunch, and making him glad for only having a small breakfast.

Before he found out just what was being served, he noticed Fleur looking up at the doorway and instinctively turned to look. There was a very pretty woman - who couldn't have been a day over twenty - standing there. She had the same long silvery-blonde hair as Fleur, and her eyes - which were both set on Harry - were a similar shade of blue. She took the seat between Harry and Victoire. Harry knew she was Fleur's sister - recognising her face and the obvious family resemblance they'd inherited from their Veela ancestry - but he couldn't recall her name. To be fair, he hadn't seen nor heard much of her at all since Bill and Fleur's wedding all those years ago. Harry hoped beyond hope that she wouldn't talk to him and put him on the spot. Those hopes were very quickly tarnished.

"'Ello, 'Arry. You do remember me, don't you?" Her accent was much thicker than Fleur's, something that stunned Harry slightly. He knew it was silly to be taken aback by it, but he'd gotten much more used to Fleur's now very light accent. He supposed he should have expected it; Fleur had been living in England for a fair amount of years - something that Harry knew causes accents to change.

"Of course I remember you, Gabrielle." He plucked the name out of thin air, hoping it was the right one. It seemed right enough but it would be extremely awkward for him to commit such a faux pas as not remembering a name. Her smile did wonders to remove the tension from Harry and the air around him.

Fleur had taken the seat to Bill's right at some point - and placed plates on each of their mats - and gave a small wave of her wand, causing the covers of the dishes to vanish immediately. When they were removed, Harry knew that there had been some charm on them and the oven to hide smell because there was no mistaking what his nose recognised. On the tray before him were several platters containing everything he'd need to provide himself with a Full English Breakfast. Harry noticed Gabrielle wrinkle her nose slightly when the food was revealed but he had no such qualms about the food.

"I thought you would appreciate a big lunch." Fleur explained. "I didn't think you were the sort to cook much, and you don't look like you've been eating properly either."

"Thanks." Harry said dumbly. What Fleur said wasn't strictly true. He most certainly did cook. He definitely couldn't recall a time where he'd eaten anything other than something he had cooked, excluding the few times when he'd accepted Gawain's dinner invitations. In fact, his kitchen had a fair amount of more exotic ingredients for when Harry felt like experimenting a little - though the results of said experiments were, admittedly, often disappointing. Then again, he definitely had been neglecting to eat properly. Breakfasts were usually minimal affairs, and dinners were rarely affairs of any kind.

He helped himself to some of everything - bacon, sausages, black pudding, scrambled eggs, toast, tomatoes, baked beans, hash browns, mushrooms, and a sizeable helping of brown sauce - and was soon eating what he truly believed was the best meal he'd had in years. While he ate, he noticed that Bill was the only other person with the same joy for the food. Fleur was eating a small amount of scrambled eggs, Victoire was happily eating some baked beans, and Gabrielle was nibbling on a slice of toast. He shrugged it off as nothing, remembering a past Fleur's mild contempt for the food that had been served at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament.

* * *

Lunch was an uneventful affair and, besides the quiet sound of chewing, it was a silent one too. Once the food had been removed from the table, either having been eaten or vanished, Harry had elected to clean up. Fleur protested - he was a guest, not someone to busy themselves with the housework - but eventually gave in, under conditions that she at least helped. And so, Harry found himself scrubbing away.

Like lunch, the cleaning was quiet for the most part. Once Harry reached the final plate, he decided that the silence was starting to become awkward. So, he asked the first thing that came to his mind, "So, where were you, Victoire, and Gabrielle, when I arrived?"

"What makes you think we weren't in the house?" Fleur spoke impassively, though Harry knew she was simply being contrary.

"I didn't see any of you when Bill showed me to my room. I imagine Victoire would have made it difficult for me to ignore her, as well." Harry was glad to see the smile he'd managed to plant on her face.

"I would have to agree with you. Victoire has a habit of making her presence known."

"So, she takes after you then?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Fleur turned her nose up at Harry's comment, and Harry had to hold back a scoff.

"Oh, don't be like that. I remember the attention you'd had back at Hogwarts. I've no doubt you could've done something to downplay it a little, considering how your wedding was not full of men ogling you."

"I think Ron would have to disagree with you there, Harry."

"Well, Ronald is an idiot." Harry said coldly.

"Someone might say you were, Harry. People don't tend to like being called attention-seekers."

"You know I never meant anything by it..." Harry said slowly. He realised he'd been scrubbing at the same plate for a while and set it down, completing the washing up.

Instead of leaving the kitchen, Harry sat down at the table. Fleur soon joined him, taking the seat opposite. She was giving him an appraising look, something that he thought she wasn't one to do.

"Why didn't tell me Gabrielle was your guest?" He asked, hoping to change her gaze. It worked, and Fleur frowned at the question.

"I thought I had told you already." She said. "Gabrielle ruined the surprise for Victoire, and someone needed to be surprised. I admit, it's petty, but so was Gabrielle. We asked her not to tell Victoire." She explained, after Harry had raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Well I'm glad it's her."

"Oh, really?" Fleur smiled, a tad smugly.

"There are plenty worse people you could've had here..." Harry trailed off, looking away from Fleur.

"You've no need to worry about that Harry." Fleur said, understanding what he meant. "None of Bill's family have visited us. I don't think they'll just happen by after a year of nothing. Bill is a little upset by that, I think." Fleur added offhandedly.

"I don't know whether to be happy or upset by that." Harry said truthfully. He didn't really want to deal with any of the Weasleys at the moment - except Bill, of course. And maybe George and Arthur as well. - but hearing that none of them had visited was a bit disheartening. Fleur said nothing, and he didn't want to pry, so Harry sat in silence until Fleur stood up.

"Come, Harry. Bill might be wondering why the dishes are taking so long to clean."

"He needn't be worried."

"We know, Harry." The two of them headed to the front room and rejoined with Bill, Victoire, and Gabrielle.

* * *

The rest of the day was filled with small chatter between them: Harry talking about changes in the Ministry and keeping Bill and Fleur up-to-date with some of the ex-Order members they'd been friendly with; Bill and Fleur talking a little about what they hadn't put in letters over the past year or so and how Bill's job in Gringotts was going; and Victoire was happily showing off some of the more extravagant toys that Fleur's parents had bought for her, a particularly impressive one being a small, wooden winged horse that had been placed under so many different echantments that it may as well have been alive. Gabrielle was silent for the most part and only spoke up when Fleur was talking about the past week that Gabrielle had been there.

By the time it got late, all of them seemed tired enough to sleep where they sat. Victoire was the exception, having to be shepharded into bed by her mother, who was cursing herself for having let Victoire stay up so late to begin with. Harry chuckled a little at the sight and bade a good night to everyone before he descended into his room for a proper night's sleep.

The next week passed by well enough for Harry. Maladroit - which he did, true to Fleur's word, find out firsthand - was quite light on stores. It reminded Harry of Hogsmeade. The stores it did have were in a similar vein; a sweet shop, a pub, a newsagent, an inn, a book store, and a post office. Like Hogsmeade, it was also an almost entirely English-speaking town. This, Harry found out after an offhanded comment to the owner of the newsagents, was the reason for the town's name.

Apparently, it was originally home to a handful of British wizards. They had applied to become an official part of the French wizarding world, but stubbornly - and stupidly, Harry thought - refused to bother learning the language. The French Minstry of Magic allowed them to join but under the condition that they would change the name to Maldroit. It was supposed to goad the inhabitants to actually learn the language, if only to find out what the word meant, and refuse the name change. The attempt ultimately failed, however, as they either didn't bother to find out the meaning of the word, or they just simply didn't care.

Ever since Harry had found out the origin of the toen and it's name, the architectural style of the buildings became a lot less jarring to him. While he wasn't one to fuss over architecture, seeing distinctly British buildings in a foreign setting was a little odd for him, like seeing a full English breakfast on the menu for a Chinese restaurant.

When Harry had let this little peeve slip in conversation to Bill, he'd gotten a laugh and a pat on the back, as well as a promise that he'd see a genuinely French building in France by the day's end. And that was how Harry found himself where he was; wearing his dress robes, in a very well done up French restaurant about a mile outside of Maladroit.

It sat quite conspicuously alone on the road. The owner was a Frenchman who understood that Maladroit was a decent enough place for business - seeing as it was very tourist friendly with it being mostly populated by speakers of English - but he didn't want to be properly associated with the town out of some form of patriotism. So he had decided that he'd have his restaurant built outside of the town's borders. Because of that, he had managed to justify his establishment's modern French style, as well as the decision to not worry over whether his staff were able to speak English or not.

The lack of English-speaking waiter was a slightly embarrasing experience for Harry, him not having learned any of the language. Gabrielle, who was seated beside Harry, had whispered a basic translation of the menu to Harry before they ordered but Harry, slightly flustered, asked Gabrielle to just order him some steak and chips - he had opted out of a starter, not feeling hungry enough to justify it. He was not in a very adventurous mood at the moment.

After their waiter had taken their order, Harry saw a sly smile on Gabrielle face and a felt a sheepish one on his own. While she most certainly hadn't become his most favourite person, he could at least say that he'd like to keep in touch with her after his vacation was over. She'd definitely been more talkative than she was the day he'd arrived, and he found her to be easy to talk to. She was accomodating, at least. She also was able to talk at length about her schooling; something Harry had thought wouldn't be a very engaging subject despite his curiosity.

Gabrielle told him that she had only just finished her tenth and final year at Beauxbatons. Where Hogwarts took students in when they were eleven, Beauxbatons took them when they were eight - children showed the first signs of magic by, at least, seven, and it was the school's philosophy to bring students in as early as possible to better integrate them with their magic and the wizarding world.

After their sixth year - which Harry recalled was when Beauxbatons' students took their first exams - the choice of subject becomes more varied, and occasionally more specialised. History of Magic was apparently much better taught at Beauxbatons - perhaps due to it not being taught by a ghost - and it covered a wide array of magical history, though mostly Frances magical history - a problem common to any school. Defence Against the Dark Arts - which Harry was intrigued to have learned - was taught in a very different manner. It, along with Transifguration and Charms, were split into different branches of magic and separate classes were taught based on branches. This effectively doubled the amount of classes taught when compared to Hogwarts, though the standard of teaching was apparently marginally better as far as exam results were concerned. Harry guessed that not having a teacher leave every year probably helped somewhat, though he hadn't checked if that curse on the DADA position had ended after Voldemort had died.

The exams themselves were taken in students' sixth and tenth years, rather than the Hogwarts fifth and seventh. This effectively gave students much more preparation time for their exams, which was probably another contributing factor to the higher average grade. Harry was dismayed to find out that grades were not the same as they were in Hogwarts. Beauxbatons grading was essentially the same as muggle grading; using the A to F idea rather than the Hogwarts style which gave the letters meanings. Harry only discovered this unfortunate truth when he asked why Gabrielle seemed so ecstatic in getting mostly A grades.

Gabrielle had informed Harry that she was looking to moving to England sometime in the future. "Eet would be much simpler for me to find a job zeir than eet would 'ere." She had told him. When he'd asked what she wanted to do, she hadn't answered, only muttering, "Ze bland food might be a problem though."

Fortunately for Gabrielle, the food was definitely no problem for her tonight. When their food was brought to the table, Harry slightly regretted his choice in food. The food the rest had ordered was, while not necessarily presented better,at least more appealing, if only for being something different. This was something he'd definitely not bring up, lest he face the jibes of Bill. The man had a habit of finding small things much funnier than they were for far too long.

Dinner was, for the first time during Harry's stay, filled with slight chatter. Harry stayed quiet for the most part - he didn't think he was involved enough with the rest of their family to give any kind of insight as to what Fleur and Gabrielle's parents thoughts on varied subjects were - but the conversation soon shifted onto what was going to happen over the next few days, which was an area he was sure he'd probably have to have some say in.

"I zink I will be leaving tomorrow." Gabrielle said. Fleur and Bill simply raised their eyebrows a little at this. Victoire, on the other hand, moaned a bit louder than was strictly necessary.

"No, Aunty Gabby!" Victoire practically pouted, giving Gabrielle her best puppy-eyed expression.

"I'm sorry, Victoire. I was meant to go home last week, and I zink your mummy and daddy are starting to get annoyed with me by now." Gabrielle gave a little smile, which Victoire returned slightly.

"You're not that much of a bother, Gabrielle." Bill said with a slightly amused look. "You're welcome to stay longer if you want."

"Eet eez a nice offer, but I do not want to overstay my welcome."

"Oh, come on, Gabrielle." Harry said encouragingly. "A few more days can't hurt."

"I did not know you enjoyed my company so much, 'Arry." Gabrielle said slyly.

"You do yourself a disservice." Harry said pompously. "Besides, I doubt I'd forgive you if you left now."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, Sunday is a particularly special day for me." Harry barely explained.

"I am afraid I do not understand your meaning." Gabrielle said, confusion becoming clearly evident on her face.

"He's being a dolt, Gabrielle." Bill said, with a roll of his eyes. "Sunday is the thirty-first of July, which is Harry's birthday."

"Oh." Gabrielle said dumbly, nodding her head slightly. "Well, I do not think I could leave now zat you 'ave told me zis. After all, 'Arry is clearly pining for me."

"Now you flatter yourself, Gabrielle." Harry scoffed, looking away from her.

Gabrielle looked afronted and gave Harry a light slap on his arm. Victoire giggled a little at this, and the conversation slipped into subjects that Harry once again had no reason or knowledge to provide input. Desserts arrived for Gabrielle and Victoire, the two of them having the sweetest of sweet teeth, and Harry was essentially left alone to think.

His thoughts were scattered and generally of little signifcance or relevance - while he had zoned out of the conversation slightly, he had no doubt that they were discussing potential ways to tackle a dragon singlehandedly. What kept coming back to him though was what Gabrielle had said. Because no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't deny there being some truth to her words. He definitely was not pining for her, but he didn't exactly want her to leave either.

* * *

**[A/N: Well, bugger. I'm kind of crap with this schedule thing, aren't I? Okay, new plan! No schedule! Mwahahahaha! Okay, that was just an excuse for an evil laugh. Seriously, I really did want to try for a weekly release. Unfortunately, the last week was both hectic and unfortunate. Lost my phone (i.e. what I write everything on) and didn't find it until yesterday. So I wrote 3,000 words of this yesterday. I never want to do that again. It was so dark... Oh, and I had college stuff to set up, go to induction, and make sure I'm ready for the rest of the year. Then I saw the Paralympic closing ceremony (i.e. that awesome Coldplay concert) on Sunday. Put simply, I've got to start locking myself in my dark bedroom more often if I want to hit that weekly deadline. So, in an attempt to stay sane and ahead of college work, the schedule is a fortnightly one now. At latest. Hopefully. The chapters will usually be up when they're done and the next one has had a plan kicked into it, but don't worry about the schedule until it's been two Sundays after the last release...**

**Now that's enough of me talking about my schedule slip - which is still better than LittleKuriboh's! - so we shall now get onto me nittering away about this chapter... Which was actually fun to write, despite my complaining. It gave me a reason to lock myself away for hours listening to music on my headphones. But I digress. With this chapter, I think I've finished introducing the main players of the story. Except the villain. This is important for reasons to plot and fic structure. **

**I'm thinking about making this fic essentially a prologue to a bigger one. I'll either do that or add to this one (obviously) but it all depends on how big a tone shift I feel like giving it when I get there. There's also the fact that I like writing entirely from one character's perspective and that the bigger story, which I sort of have outlined, will go places and rely on things that Harry wouldn't be able to find out first-hand... I'll have to write from at least another character's perspective. Because there's no Voldemort-mind-connection for him to find out enemy plans, no conversations involving higher-ups for him to overhear (because Aurors actually remember that SOUND CARRIES THROUGH DOORS), and there are big events that will happen away from him that I'd rather write someone going through rather than it be delivered as exposition to Harry. So yeah. Got thoughts? Send a review my way. **

**THE FOLLOWING IS STUPID RAMBLING THAT I DIDN'T WANT TO DELETE! **

**I haven't had one yet... I don't know why, and it torments me. Seriously. I've got vague guesses as to why, but I don't actually know. This is like knowing you're adopted but your parents don't know you know and you overhear them having conversations about whether or not they should tell you... It reinforces paranoia. I don't need my paranoia to be reinforced by this. I've got enough going on and not going on in my personal life to have my paranoia resemble something along the lines of twelve bank vaults. And maybe a personal fridge. I need one of those. A fridge, not a bank vault. Though a bank vault would be nice. It'd be all cosy like. Anyway... Erm... I'm going to put a warning above this paragraph. I don't like deleting this kind of stuff. You should see all of the half written fics I've got as .doc files that quickly devolve into these kinds of ramblings... 'Tis intriguing for some. Anyway... Thanks for reading!]**


End file.
